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You Gonna Join Me, Girl?

If That Damn Kiss Had Never Happened...

By TJ SagePublished 3 years ago 8 min read
7
Photo by Andrew Itaga on Unsplash, edited slightly by me

April 11th, 2021

The nine month anniversary of my husband’s death passed just a few days ago. It still hurts to think about the last time I’d seen him, just after his COVID test had come back positive and he’d been carted off to the hospital. I’d contracted it as well, just like 80% of the retirement home we were living in, but my symptoms hadn't even warranted a hospital stay. They moved me to a different home after that, and I’ve been here ever since. Just as well, I’d rather live in a place that didn’t have Theo’s memory anyway.

I’ve been watching the trial of Derek Chauvin on the television, all those people recounting the awful and unnecessary death of George Floyd. Every time I see the systemic racism cases in the news, I wish I were young and spritely enough to join the Black Lives Matter events. I don’t even understand the Face Book or the Instantgram so I can voice my support on the web. At 82, I’m too damn old to figure those things out, and I don’t have any family left who could help me. Theo and I chose not to have kids.

All this racism enrages me, and takes me back to my first date in August of 1958. The unjust death of George Floyd reminds me exactly of the unjust death of Lance Thompson, my first love.

I was 19 years old and home for summer break after my first year of college at Huntingdon College in Alabama. My daddy’s cattle farm was in the middle of nowhere, Mississippi. All summer, I’d had a growing flirtation with one of the black men who worked on my daddy’s farm. He was by far the most handsome. He’d caught my eye the first day I was back home, and I’d fallen in love with him right then and there.

After weeks turned to months of flirting with him and dreaming about him, he finally asked me on a date. Of course in 1958, racism was far more rampant than it is now, and a white girl dating a black boy was so dangerous, so we decided to have our date at midnight.

I snuck into my parents’ big china cabinet that held all sorts of wine bottles they never opened and picked one from the back, without a care to even glance at what kind it was. The bottle was dark, so I assumed it was a red wine. Very carefully, I took two glasses from the case, slipped out the back door onto the deck and tiptoed down to the grass, where I took off like a mustang, the bottle of wine clutched firmly in my hand, the two glasses delicately in the other. I was so excited for my date with Lance, I couldn’t slow down if I tried.

I found him lying on a picnic blanket and looking at the stars, two fields away from the house. The moon was full that night and I had no trouble seeing the pensive look on his face.

By Ganapathy Kumar on Unsplash

“See anything interestin’ up there?” I asked as I approached.

“Just the second most beautiful view, Miss,” he replied softly, sitting up.

“What’s the first?”

“Give ya two guesses,” he smiled at me in a suggestive way.

“Oh, stop, you,” I hoped the moonlight didn’t reveal the blush I could feel light up my cheeks.

“You gonna join me, girl?”

I hesitated only a second before dropping down onto the blanket with him. I pulled the cork screw out of my dress pocket, deftly opened the bottle, and poured us both a glass, sipping mine immediately. Looking at the label, my eyes concurred with my taste buds that I’d chosen a Merlot - the taste of cherry and chocolate sliding over my tongue like silk.

As I sipped again, my eyes rose above my glass to see Lance watching me. His glance dropped shyly as soon as I looked at him and he took a sip of his own wine.

“Alright, now, you will be chosin’ the wine for every date we have,” he picked up the bottle and looked at the label.

“I can’t take credit, I grabbed a random one. Guess I’m just lucky,” I nibbled the edge of my glass flirtatiously.

He smiled and nervously changed the subject. We talked about everything from my schooling to his work on the farm, our families, and even past dates. We became increasingly flirty with each other the more we talked. I was surprised that he hadn’t seen his family in over two years, and he was surprised that a college girl like me had never been on a date before.

“I wish I could take y’all on a proper date,” he sighed.

“Whaddya mean? This is a proper date!” I laughed.

“No, I mean like take you out. To the movies, dinner, dancin’, you know.”

By Gabriel on Unsplash

I tried to think of a way to cheer him up. He’d gotten so somber, staring at his glass with such a sad expression.

“I know how this could be a more 'proper' date,” I smiled and set down my glass on a flat part of grass. “You could kiss me?”

He laughed nervously, “Girl, you gonna go and get me in trouble now!”

“Well, there’s nobody ‘round, and it’s one o’clock in the mornin’,” I fake whispered. “I’d say now’s your chance, if you wanna.”

“Well…” he smiled. “When you put it that way…”

He leaned over and kissed me, ever so softly. His lips felt like marshmallows that had been left in the heat, soft and sweet. My hands rose to cradle his face and his hands found my waist as we continued our long, delightful kiss.

I always thought I’d have plenty of kisses like that throughout my life, but none had measured up to that one, not even with Theo. That kiss almost made what happened next worth it. Almost, but not quite.

My father’s voice cut through our serenity like a pickaxe and a sharp light blinded me and caused me to leap away from Lance. I don’t remember what my father said, I only remember hearing anger. Then my world was brimming with fear for Lance as my mother pulled me up by the elbow and a policeman tackled him to the ground. I remember screaming. I remember that I was still screaming when I was pushed roughly into my bedroom and my mother closed and locked the door from the outside, like she knew I’d go running after him if I could get out.

I cried for a week after that...no one would tell me what had happened to Lance, so I imagined the worst. I cried out of fear and out of loneliness, as I replayed our glorious kiss and the brutal interruption over and over in my mind.

The next time I saw Lance was in the paper the following week after I’d returned to school - his picture was displayed across the front page, showing bruises and gashes all over his face. The headline read: “Black Man Sentenced to Death for Molestation of a White Girl.” His execution date was set for early January, 1959. I was shocked it had made national news, as black men were sent to Death Row quite often in those days, for one reason or another. I never believed the reasons they published, I knew they fabricated or embellished them just like Lance’s.

Photo by Mathew Schwartz on Unsplash

I threw that paper out the window of my dorm room and shut it with so much force, the glass rattled. I just couldn’t believe he was going to be executed because I had enticed him to kiss me. And that kiss being so great somehow made it worse (at the time; it’s one of my most cherished memories now).

I wrote letters to the governor of Mississippi, the mayor of my hometown, even President Eisenhower, begging anyone who might listen to save him. I didn’t have to write letters for long, though, because another story about Lance was published in November: “Black Man Shot to Death After Escape Attempt.” I highly doubted that was what really happened, and I accepted long ago that I’ll never know the real reason he died, no matter how many letters I wrote or doors I pounded on.

The loss of his life has always been and will always be my greatest regret. If we’d never gone on that stupid date, or had that damn kiss, maybe Lance would still be alive today.

Lance, I don’t know if you can read this from where you are, but if you can, I’m sorry for what I’ve cost you - you were taken from this world far too soon. Maybe if we’d been alive in a different time, we could’ve been together. Maybe we would’ve gotten married. Maybe you’d be sitting in this retirement home with me, and maybe we would’ve had children and grandchildren to come visit us. Life would have been just as blissful as that kiss.

I didn’t even get the chance to say I love you. I’m so much older now than I was back then, my fingers hurt so much I can barely write this. I can feel my body getting weaker by the day, so maybe I’ll get to see you soon. You better be waiting for me when I get there.

~ Love, Peggy

I set down my pen and massaged my cramping hand. I hadn’t written that much in a long time, but I felt a sense of urgency today, like I really needed to express these memories into the physical world. It seemed all the strength left in my body was spent writing, I didn’t even have the energy to move the wheel on my chair to face the television and watch the ever depressing news channel.

I turned my head to try to see it anyway and gasped. Standing before me, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, was Lance, looking exactly the same as the last time I’d seen him. He smiled when our eyes met, showing me his perfectly white teeth, just like I remembered, and held out his hand. I looked at it, unsure what he expected me to do as I hadn’t been able to stand in weeks.

He laughed again. “You gonna join me, girl?”

____________________________________________________

Thanks for reading! If you liked what you read, please hit the heart, share with your friends, or consider leaving a tip to support my work.

If you enjoyed this, I would greatly appreciate if you would take a look at my other stories! If you love period pieces and/or romantic short stories, I recommend this one:

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About the Creator

TJ Sage

Not-your-average wannabe writer and author who's a sucker for a good story.

[email protected]

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